


Across a Crowded Room

by Cara_Loup



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cara_Loup/pseuds/Cara_Loup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected encounter in a Coruscant bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across a Crowded Room

He could see the man by the bar clearly, even across the crowded room, even from the shadow arch of the doorway. Perhaps it was his stillness, the very ease of it, the self-assured calm in the line down his back that slowed all the movement around him. Perhaps it was something else entirely, a recurrent sensation like a dream-flash behind his eyes, that made Luke's breath catch and stopped him short, balanced on the balls of his feet.

He could always tell where Han was in a room, before he'd quite looked, before outlines and directions fell into place. Finding him here should not be unexpected. But it was, it sent a small jolt of discovery running through him, the kind that he hadn't felt in a long time.

The tables and the glistening square of dancefloor were all crowded, but only a single seat by the bar had been taken. And there Han kept his own company, one leg stretched aside, the chrome stool tipped backwards, his hand curled casually around the edge of the bartop. A faint tension rippled from his shoulders to his hips as he shifted, but it was smooth and supple, a mark of habitual watchfulness. The sight could have touched on a thousand memories, and yet here it swept Luke with a light thrill that owed nothing to the past.

Why had he stopped, watching with a sense of incredulous fascination, instead of crossing over? If he was fighting something, he couldn't tell what, just that it wasn't the same fight anymore. At other times, he would have settled himself with a breath, between that short leap of alarm and the knowledge of clear limits. He would have paced himself accordingly and relied on Han's instincts and humor to steer him the rest of the way. Now he couldn't move at all.

The change was so visible in Han's posture, in the relaxed set of his shoulders, and perhaps that was what had arrested him on the doorstep. Han had never been entirely comfortable on Coruscant, in the bustling angular push of its crowds through trimmed spaces and hard verticals. Now he sat like a traveller just passing through, waiting out the night at his own pace. A ribbon of smoke curled under the bar lights like hanging fire. Luke breathed out slowly while that hazy lighting seeped into the spaces around Han and enclosed him in amazement.

A jingling of glass on the air vied with the music that pulsed on gut-level frequencies. Han wasn't drinking. He held the glass between two fingers, rolling it, a third finger tapping a slow rhythm against its side. It followed a different timing, that rhythm, counterpoint to the bass beats of the music, and stirred a soft swirl of liquid in the glass. A dance of aimless waiting that could afford to linger over each moment.

Luke fumbled in his memory for the sound of Leia's voice. It didn't come easy, because there'd been no tinge of grief or surprise, only the acceptance of fact, and he had nothing else to go by.

_It's over._

He hadn't believed it. Not when Leia told him, in her own sober way, with an exactness that left no room for questions. But now that he saw the difference, saw it pooled in the light that trickled down through the smoke across the pale shirt down Han's back, he could believe ― something.

He'd spent months away from Coruscant. He'd imagined that things would be the same whenever he returned. At some point before his departure, he'd given up on change, and he could see now how wrong he'd been, so wrong that it made him want to laugh. He'd watched and waited so many times.

Through the metal plating of the floor ran the music's ceaseless staccato, pattering against the soles of his boots, but a deeper tension passed out of him as he leaned back. He studied the way Han's fingers slid down the side of the glass, the languid, artless grace when Han stretched his back for a moment and passed a hand through his hair. Even across the room, that short movement stirred a touch of something electric, and it was a luxury to watch, a hazardous kind of pleasure. He hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't the freedom that breathed around Han.

Perhaps he'd stopped in the doorway only to take in that change and get a taste of what it might mean, and perhaps he would leave again, leave it here, this knowledge of something that might happen anytime now, or never. Or he could walk over and sit down next to Han, and it would be a chance meeting that made them strangers again. Within that band of light and smoke, they would share the kind of unconditional silence that only strangers could share, free of expectations, joined in casual acceptance for as long as it took to finish their drinks.

A short draft of air played on the back of Luke's neck as the outer door opened and closed again. He'd unbuttoned the collar of his tunic, and heated wafts from the bar-room fell against his throat and slipped down the middle of his chest.

If he sat down by the bar, Han would turn his head and say his name, with that slight curling of his lip and the shadow of a smile. He wouldn't be surprised. Han was never surprised when they found themselves side by side in the middle of a crowd, and it made no difference where ― at a state function or during the rushed evacuation of a rebel base, or among ragged drifters in a portside bar. As if the space around them created a simple symmetry they could always rely on. It made Luke smile in turn, an echo to Han's imagined smile, anticipating it, sheltering it. Perhaps he'd come here to make sure that Han belonged entirely to himself.

Across the room, shadows fanned back and forth. Han's fingers had returned to the bartop and played out a lazy drumroll. His rhythm passed through the music, through the strobic to-and-fro of silhouettes that took Han from view and delivered him again, reaching out with untroubled sureness. It settled and wound down in Luke's pulse, until he swayed towards it. Something in him uncoiled at the notion that he could turn and walk off unseen, even though he knew that he wouldn't.

His eyes had slipped shut, committing him to a warm, private dimness, though he didn't remember closing them, and the rhythm toyed with his senses, releasing a silent sound.

The way Han said his name. The way it reached for him, wrapped around him, with no effort, and brushed a sad longing across his skin. It was something he'd always guarded against. Why? Now that it had trickled out into the past, his own caution seemed like such a strange and jealous creature. He could open his eyes and dive into the moment without a thought. There were no shadows in this blurry light that didn't quite reach the floor, only mobile patches of darkness trailing after their own dreams. He took a step down from the doorway.

The floor didn't slope away under his feet ― it was level and solid, laminate over durasteel over the Coruscant bedrock of ferrocrete ― but he felt that slight tilt of angles all the same. It added a touch of the inevitable to his choice, and a quick pull in the pit of his stomach. He'd fallen like this, letting himself slide along a known vector like a light-traced course, when he'd already known he was losing. But there were moments when the sound of Han's voice could tilt his world, going deep and husky for no reason except to hold him captive, when Han's expression opened to him with a startling innocence. When he felt himself known in the way he'd once known the stars mapped against Tatooine's nightsky. It had been all of these things and none, the slivers of memories set in motion to swirl on silent music. A fall down this gentle slide and a choice. His choice.

Han would recognize his presence before he turned, it had always been that way. And if he'd ever imagined this moment before, it was stretched to the brim with questions. Perhaps because he'd thought that from this moment onward, the waiting would grow worse. But that wasn't how it felt now.

Luke took another step, ready to ford these swimming shadows and reach the bar like a shoreline, carried along by the sound and motion that played only in his mind. He had nothing to hide anymore, there would be no effort, no questions. He wouldn't know how much showed on his face, or in his voice. Perhaps Han would see the second their eyes met, perhaps he'd always known or never would.

The smile returned, with a sudden warmth rushing into his breath, and a bright flicker of pulse. They could talk all night or share silence, and in the morning walk out into the light-washed fogs and ride a rattling lift up to a level above the clouds. They could take all the time they wanted. And just ―

Just be.

* * * * *

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2002.
> 
> Feedback: any and all comments and criticisms very welcome.
> 
> Disclaimer: George Lucas created these wonderful characters and turned them loose. The joy of writing them is all the profit I could wish for.


End file.
